The Creative Process In All Its Weirdness

The creative process is weird, today I found myself hunched over my notebook and somehow my scrunchie ended up wrapped around one of my toes instead of on my wrist or in my hair. When the muse hits I scribble furiously, I can't draw but I like to play with different kinds of handwriting and attempt little things like stars. There are a lot of ugly little stars scattered throughout the pages of my notebook, they're easy to draw and a good filler when the words I've written look lonely against the white paper. When actual proper pencil and paper writing goes down I become rather oblivious to the world around me, I let my hair slide its way out of whatever sloppy style I've tied it up in, I miss meals, forget about chores, etc. A lot of artistic types claim that everything pauses when the muse hits them, I don't find that the case though. It's not really that time stops or even slows down for me, it's that I ignore it passing. Creativity turns me into a recluse, I coop myself up in my room, hiding from anything noisy and distracting. Hours later when I choose to rejoin the human race I find that a movie marathon has gone on without me or everyone has gone to bed. I don't like it when that happens, I need to work on being less of a hermit crab but tragically my muse is an antisocial creature and likes to do things on its own terms. The recluse thing is seriously something I need to work on, I tend to lose my sense of zen when out and about, I'm quiet by nature and easily overwhelmed, it's becoming rather problematic. I find that my mind over processes things, so when there's a lot to take in the gears in my thought factory start smoking and the imaginary engineers press the alarm and abandon their posts and go running off like chickens with their heads cut off. I guess I should explain the thought factory thing, huh? I don't when I started doing this but somehow that phrase about gears turning made me think up a factory in my head with a bunch of little mes in hard hats and coveralls working on loud steampunkish machines. So when I have a hard time processing something I try to explain to people how the Gabbys in the thought factory have pressed the mayday button and sirens are going off and the lights are flashing red. They never really get it so I usually just say I have a headache. Now that I'm thinking about it a ridiculous amount of  detail has gone into the thought factory. There's all these different divisions, like the ones who handle processing school related information (those guys suck at their jobs), and the ones who deal with cooking (they sit in the corner crying most of the time), and each division has a supervisor which is a little me dressed up in a lab coat and glasses. The only area without a lab coat me is the creative department, that's lorded over by a personification of my muse. Wow, I didn't actually now how overly thought out this was until I wrote it all down. I'm a strange person, gang. That's gonna be it for now. Until next time. Much Love, Gabby